


Blame The Whiskey

by teB360



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Gay Cowboys, Gay Sex, M/M, Smut, pre game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 22:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teB360/pseuds/teB360
Summary: John and Arthur are alone together in the woods getting up to their usual drunk talks and shenanigans, until John accidentally sets Arthur's pants on fire. He gets the bright idea to put it out with whiskey and Arthur decides to get him back."Now I got no pants, a roasted leg and no whiskey all cos you're a fuckin' dumbass."





	Blame The Whiskey

“What’s gotten into you, John? Arthur drawled as he tied Eastwood, his Dutch Wormblood horse to a low but sturdy branch. He tested the knot on the tether before turning back to John who was gathering sticks and kindling for a fire.

“What’re you talking about? I’m fine.” John sighed, exasperated. If he were fine he sure didn’t act like it. He had been cagey the whole ride up to Moonstone Lake, and even before then he was acting funny. He busied himself with the kindling, teepeeing them in a nice patch of dirt to distract himself from meeting eyes with the taller man.

“You and Abigail alright?” He probed and at this, John stopped what he was doing and finally looked up at Arthur.

“She’s tellin’ me she’s pregnant.” 

Arthur didn’t respond. Under any normal circumstance he would have congratulated him, but they weren’t in a normal circumstance. They weren’t normal people. They were outlaws, and birthing a child into an outlaw’s life wasn’t fair. Arthur’s mouth tightened, unsure of what to say. 

After a few moments John got the fire started and began to warm his hands. “It ain’t mine though.”

At this Arthur balked. “What d’ya mean it ain’t yours?” 

“I said: It. Ain’t. Mine.” 

“-‘course it’s yours. You been with her for how long now?” Arthur shook his head and upended a can of beans into his mouth, discarding the can to the side. “How ‘bout you start being a man and stay by your woman’s side? And why did you beg to come huntin’ with me and leavin’ your wife all alone?”

“Before you berate me, that ain’t the point. I haven’t slept with her for months now. It can’t be mine.” He admitted. “And she’s not alone, she’s with the gang.” John shook his head angrily. “And another thing, you can’t talk to me about bein’ a man. You got a son livin’ alone with his mother in the woods. Why didn’t you stick with her, if it’s that important to you?”

Arthur glowered at John. “That’s different.”

“Different? You can’t sit here actin’ all high and mighty about how I should start bein’ a man. The difference is, that baby ain’t mine, but Isaac is yours.”

“I don’t want that life for my son, John.” He snapped with a thunderous roar. The woods suddenly fell silent as the cawing birds in the trees flew off, disturbed. “He don’t deserve that. He don’t deserve an outlaw pa with a price on his head. I had no choice, John. You think I wanted to leave them? I was puttin’ them in danger just by breathin’ the same air as them.” Arthur grew silent and John said nothing. “I love that boy, John. That’s why I don’t got a choice but to stay away.” 

John opened a bottle of Kentucky bourbon, talking a mouthful and letting it burn slowly and numbingly on his tongue before swallowing. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, Arthur.” He passed to bottle to him, a peace offering, who gladly accepted it and took a slow, thoughtful swig.

“I should have run away with them. Done right by Isaac. Done right by Helen. She’s a good, hard workin’ woman. An honest woman. Too good for me. And he’s a good boy. I go to visit them sometimes. Try to teach him to read. But it’s been a while.”

“It ain’t too late, Arthur.”

“Oh it is too late.” Arthur’s eyes followed the flames, staring deep into them as though they would reveal the secret of life. “The price on my head is too big. Anywhere we go there’ll be people sniffin’ around, bounty hunters, you name it. We’d be hounded like dogs, always on the run. It’s not the life I want to give them. They’re safe where they are, away from the likes of me, and other fellers like me.” 

For a long while the two said nothing, but the silence was a comfortable one. The fire crackled loudly between them as they passed the bottle of whiskey to one another. They weren’t drinking to get drunk, but rather to feel something other than the anxiety and fear of being hunted, and the sadness of what could have been had their lives been different.

“If the baby ain’t yours,” Arthur began after what felt like hours of silence. “Then who’s is it?”

“I don’t know.” John sighed. “Dutch, maybe.” He considered. “It definitely ain’t Bill, that’s for sure.”

At this Arthur laughed. “Ain’t that the truth. So why haven’t you slept with Abigail for so long? Y’all share a tent and it does get mighty lonely sometimes.”

“I guess I just lost interest.”

“Lost interest?!” Arthur shot up in surprise. “In sex?”

“In Abigail.” He admitted. “She… talks to me like I don’t know my ass from my elbow.”

“Well you are a dumbass.” Arthur shrugged.

“Thanks, Arthur.” John laid down, facing away from the fire.

“I’m sorry boy. I was just jokin’. Don’t go all soft on me.” Arthur laughed to himself, taking another swig of the whiskey and unsteadily climbing to his feet. He felt light headed and a little dizzy. He hadn’t realised just how drunk he was. He staggered over to John who was laying with his arms crossed over his chest, staring angrily into the darkness of the woods.  
He grabbed onto John’s shoulder, pulling him roughly onto his back. 

“You’re drunk Arthur, go to bed.” John dismissed, pushing Arthur’s hand away. 

Arthur laughed at this. “C’mon John, I said I was sorry.” He kept poking at John, shoving him with his boot playfully. He wasn’t expecting John to swing and cop him square under the chin. Arthur took a step back in surprise and tripped over a rock by the fire.

“Oh shit Arthur, your leg!!” John shot up, dragging a drunk Arthur away from the fire, which had caught onto his pants.

“John you fuckin’ dumbass!” Arthur slurred as he rolled around, pulling off his suspenders and trying to unbuckle his pants to throw them off as John quickly picked up the bottle of Whiskey. “Not the whiskey John, don’t try to put out the flames with Whiskey!”

“It’s liquid!” It was too late, he upended the bottle on Arthur’s leg and the flames roared. 

Arthur managed to struggle out of his pants and John stomped hard on them, putting the flames out.

“It’s combustible liquid. Now I got no pants, a roasted leg and no whiskey all cos you’re a fuckin’ dumbass.”

“You got a burnt leg because I punched you in the face, and you deserve it for pesterin’ me.”

Arthur paused a moment before responding. “I guess I got what I deserved, then.”

“And I guess I’m a dumbass.” John relented with a smile. “Your leg alright?”

“It ain’t bad. That punch hurt more.”

“Well, good. We’re even, then?”

“No, I gotta punch you back for wastin’ the whiskey.”

“Fair enough then.” John helped Arthur to his feet. He was heavy to pull up off the ground but John made no noise of struggle. He squared up, raising his arms into a fighting stance and clenching his fists. “I ain’t gonna make it easy for you though.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur drawled slowly and took an equally as slow swing at him, which John dodged. John was also feeling light headed and a little loose. The whiskey he drank had finally got him.

Arthur took another swing and John pushed backward, raising his arms to protect his head. Arthur fell forward a few steps, losing his balance. 

“C’mon, you’ve gotten sloppy.” John teased.  
Arthur shoved him at this and John’s back hit a tree. “I’ve got you now, boy.” He said and threw a fist, stopping just short of John’s nose. John’s eyes were closed, waiting for the impact that never came. “I ain’t gonna break that pretty lil’ nose of yours, you can open your eyes, John.” 

John did as he was told, realising that Arthur had him pinned and there was no escape if he changed his mind and actually decided to hit him. “Pretty? Not many people have described me as such. You must be real drunk.” John pronounced his words with length.

“What, not even Abigail calls you pretty?” Arthur laughed. 

“No. C’mon Arthur, get off.” John made an attempt to push Arthur away, but he didn’t budge.

“Why is it that you haven’t slept with her for a while, John? It can’t be just cause she calls you a dumbass. I call you a dumbass all the time but you always beg to go out huntin’ with me.”

“What are you trying to say? Get off me.” John said, but made no attempt to push Arthur away. He was trapped in Arthur’s blue gaze. “Why are you so interested in my love affairs?”

“Is it someone else? And why would she try and say the baby is yours if it really ain’t, as you say?”

“To keep me, maybe. She knows I don’t want her no more.”

“And who do you want, then?”

He couldn’t look away from Arthur’s face. His smile, that mischievous look about him. “Why are you actin’ so weird?” 

“I wanna know, call me curious. Is it Mary-Beth? Tilly? Karen?”

“No.” John was suddenly very away of Arthur’s body looming over his, and his hands on either side of him, pressing hard into the tree to support his weight. “-‘sides, Mary-Beth seems more interested in you than me. Why haven’t you gone after her? She sure is pretty.”

“She ain’t my type.” 

“Then what is your type? Waitresses in small two-bit towns?” 

Arthur pressed his body against John’s. 

“You’re drunk. This is unnatural.”

“But you want me, don’t ya? Don’t think I don’t have a clue Marston. I seen the way you watched me as I bathed in the river last week. And I watched you.”  
John stopped struggling. He remembered that too clearly as it laced his thoughts often after Abigail went to sleep. The way that the water dripped down Arthur’s toned chest, down his stomach. The way the sun glinted on the water and reflected on his eyes. The way his hands moved rhythmically over his body as he washed himself. He didn’t think Arthur had seen him.

He could feel the hardness in Arthur’s pants pressing against him. He felt hot flushes of his own travel their way down to his own source of hardness.

“I didn’t think you’d seen me.”

“This why you wanted to come huntin’ with me, Marston? To get me all out here in the open an’ catch me unawares? Bet you didn’t think I’d want the same.”

“I had no idea that –“

Arthur kissed him roughly, pushing him further against the tree until his back was flush with it. He grabbed John’s legs, hitching them up over his hips. He could hear the horses stirring but he paid them no mind. John grabbed onto Arthur’s hair, kissing him back, rougher, deeper. Their tongues met, and their hands were suddenly tearing at each other’s clothes.

Arthur opened John’s shirt, feeling his chest with his rough, calloused hands. John pulled down a suspender, but Arthur stopped his hand. “Leave them on.” He commanded, kissing John’s neck and chest.

John found his feet on the ground again and pushed up against Arthur, turning him around to push him into the tree instead, but Arthur fought him and the two fell in a heap on the grass with John on top. He pulled off Arthurs shirt, kissing and licking his way down, pulling away his underwear, revealing his erection. Hard as stone. 

John put his mouth over it and Arthur moaned his name, running his fingers through his hair gently. “Marston.” He whispered as John worked him with his tongue running it over the shaft and over the head. He licked the precum clean off and stroked and rubbed him. 

Arthur let John have his way with him without protest. He wanted this just as much as John. “I want you inside me, John.” 

John spread open Arthurs cheeks and spat on his entrance. He’d never done this with a man before but he knew sex with a man would need some form of lubrication. 

“Spit on me again, Marston.” He demanded and John spat again and then let his fingers start working him, rimming around the edges. Arthur moaned at the touch. With John’s free hand he stroked his cock hard through his pants and unbuckled them, pulling out his own erection, stroking himself, enjoying the pleasurable waves that overcame him as Arthur watched. He’d fantasised about Arthur watching him do this on so many nights. 

Arthur began to touch himself, stroking himself slowly, eyes never leaving John as he slowly pushed himself inside of him.  
He pumped into him, hands running over Arthur’s hips and his powerful legs. He let his fingers run over his hard abs and chest, ending in his hair, which he grabbed a fistful as he fucked Arthur.

Arthur was bucking his hips upwards, attempting to get John to hit that one sweet spot as he jerked his cock with his right hand, feeling his release rise upwards.

“Arthur I’m gonna – I’m gonna – “ with a moan John exploded before taking a moment to slowly pull himself out. Arthur felt the warmth of his seed drip out of him as he came onto John’s stomach. 

That next morning they hunted without saying a word about the night before and rode back into camp with a deer carcass tied onto each horse and a few rabbits tied to the saddles.

“What in the hell happened to your pants, son?” Dutch exclaimed as Arthur jumped off his mount and began untying his catch. He looked downwards, both pant legs burnt off and tattered high on his thighs, barely longer than his underwear.

“I call ‘em shorts, Dutch. Blame Marston, he’s the genius behind the idea.”

John shook his head, running a hand over his face. “Blame the whiskey, Dutch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, shorts were invented in the early 1900's, and 'knee pants' in the 1890's were worn by young boys. Adults didn't wear them as they were considered immature.


End file.
